


Wasted Potential

by goldenretrievers46



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Deep Conversations, Draco has issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced Coming Out (mentioned), Harry is actually intelligent here, Hogwarts Third Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nighttime conversations, The Marauder's Map, awkward teenage boys, gay!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenretrievers46/pseuds/goldenretrievers46
Summary: When one of Harry’s nighttime adventures causes him to discover a crying Draco Malfoy, a conversation ensues in which Draco struggles with his sexuality, tackles his prejudice, and gives Harry reason to think that maybe Draco isn’t wasting his potential after all.





	Wasted Potential

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this story was based in my frustration with the lack of fics focusing on Draco’s struggle with pureblood ideology aka his transformation from bigoted asshole to an actually nice person. Basically, I wrote what I wanted to read. I hope you enjoy the fic!

Third year hadn’t been too out of the ordinary for Harry Potter up until that point. Aside from the fact that an escaped murderer was after his throat and Hermione was acting a bit off and he had a random magical map which allowed him to stalk people and Voldemort was still existing in some form... okay, maybe Harry Potter wasn’t really having a normal year. But, what else should he expect? Normal didn’t really seem to follow him around, after all. He had saved the whole bloody wizarding world from a powerful, psychopathic maniac at the ripe old age of one year old! No, normal wasn’t possible for Harry Potter. The only constants in his life at that point were subtle glares from Professor Snape in Potions, the evenings of Quidditch practice that always left him fulfilled and happy, yet exhausted, and the obnoxious, egotistical presence of Malfoy, who always had something demeaning to say to Harry in the halls, throwing in a hateful sneer just for good measure. On the subject of Malfoy, Harry had many thoughts. Never had he met such a prejudiced person, so bent upon bullying others for their own gain and personal pleasure. Even his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley did not perturb him in the way that Draco Lucius Malfoy did. At least Harry could pass off his family’s behaviour as their close-minded Muggle ways and their prejudice toward only him, as the son of Lily Potter, whom his aunt was not on good terms with even at the time of his mothers death. There was just something inexcusable in the way Malfoy paraded around acting as though all people were below him, other than his esteemed father and his pureblood mother, and their associates. He had such pride in his ideologies which were so misguided and full of hatred and bigotry, and yet Harry had to wonder even then, if Malfoy really knew what he was talking about. This disturbed Harry even more, the fact that one of his peers could be so easily indoctrinated into an evil idea such as that of blood supremacy, that of classism, and that of the legitimacy of the Dark Arts. And more than either of those admissions, Harry hated what he saw underneath Malfoy’s horrid attitude: wasted potential. He had had enough classes with him, and had engaged in enough discourse with him, to know that Malfoy was intelligent and full of intellectual verve. He hated that a boy so mean, so... narcissistic, was so unfairly apt, rational, and charming. Now that you as the reader understand Harry Potter’s thoughts on Draco Malfoy, our story may begin. On a cold December night in his third year, Harry decided to have fun with one of his favourite hobbies as of late: exploring the castle using the Marauders Map. He had received it from Fred and George Weasley, who had figured out how to use it (no surprise, really), when he had wanted to slip out to Hogsmeade undetected. Now, Harry knew that roaming the castle in the early morning hours when the man who indirectly killed his parents was after his throat was probably a very, very bad idea, but for some reason he didn’t fear the deranged man. He thought that this could possibly have something to do with the fact that he’d confronted Voldemort in some form three times in his life, and was already so used to mass-murdering psychopaths searching for him that he was somehow desensitised to danger. Besides this, the magic involved with the map was quite intricate and very complex, and he also carried a burning curiosity as to who had written it. The only clue he had were the four nicknames (at least, he assumed they were nicknames) on the front cover: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. But in the end, he supposed that it didn’t really matter who wrote it, because its function was currently serving him well. The map showed every passage and tunnel in Hogwarts, even the secret ones that were hidden in walls and underneath trapdoors. Beyond this, the map also showcased the locations of every person in the castle, and their name. It was very useful for both evading enemies and stalking friends; therefore Harry could sneak out in the dead of night and not have to worry about Filch, Peeves, or Mrs. Norris. A sense of adventure overwhelmed him as he crept out of bed, padding past Ron and Neville and being as careful as possible not to wake them. With his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map in hand, he snuck into the common room, where a roaring fire still blazed in the fireplace, emitting a warm, muted glow and heating the entire space. You could tell that it was Christmas time too, for the entire room was draped in pine garlands and silver tinsel, and several Christmas trees stood around the room, full of shining lights and ornaments. Harry plopped down on one of the couches and began forming his plan. There was a particular room in the castle that looked extremely intriguing, a secretive place that was probably very off limits to students (obviously). He’d been wanting to have a glance at it for weeks, but he hadn’t had the chance to do so yet, having been preoccupied with sick rats, vicious cats, fighting best friends, too much homework, terrifying dementors, death omens, a sulky “injured” Malfoy, and a moody Professor Snape. As his eyes roamed over the map, he couldn’t help but smile and marvel at the names of every student, teacher, ghost, and employee in Hogwarts. Most of them seemed to be asleep in their dormitories or private sleeping quarters, and the remaining few were in their common rooms, presumably suffering from insomnia or a mischievous spirit (like Harry). Then, a movement on the map caught his eye. Someone was roaming the dark, deserted castle halls, and it wasn’t Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Peeves. It wasn’t even Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, or Snape. No, this was something much worse, Harry decided as he furrowed his brow and scowled in some type of quiet resentment. Because just outside of the Slytherin commons, Draco bloody Malfoy was walking along the corridor. Harry’s mind began to filter through all the possibilities. He wondered if Malfoy was planning to prank someone, and was just sneaking about, making preparations... not too bad, he decided. He could be out, trying to steal something from a restricted area... slightly worse. He could be in consorts with Sirius Black, discussing plans to give Harry a slow and painful death... pretty bad. He could also be in consorts with Death Eaters, Voldemort, and his father... definitely bad. He could be subjecting another student to a Dementor... very, very bad. Or he could be sneaking out to meet another student, a girl perhaps, to do things Harry didn’t even want to think about... probably the worse option on the list. At any rate, Malfoy was definitely up to no good and planning to do something nefarious. Harry made up his mind almost instantaneously. He was going to find out what Malfoy was stalking the halls during the middle of the night for. So, he pulled on the Invisibility Cloak, tucked the map into the pocket of his robe, and grasped his wand tightly in his hand before sneaking out of the common room into the cold, yet lit, stone corridor. He observed that Malfoy had ascended the stairs from the dungeons to the ground floor, from the ground floor to the first floor. He watched with interest as Malfoy continued to ascend the stairs, moving quickly and with determination, but seeming to have no destination. He moved erratically, darting in and out of rooms, hiding in alcoves even if there was no Filch in sight, and finally coming to rest on the fifth floor. He was in a secluded nook near the northeast tower. Harry frowned at this, even as he continued to descend the staircase to the fifth floor to see exactly what Malfoy was doing. Why would Malfoy go to the trouble of sneaking out of the common room if he didn’t seem to have had a goal in mind? Maybe he was meeting someone, and the other person just hadn’t arrived yet. Even so, Harry thought a fifth floor alcove to be a rather odd place to arrange a meeting, and at any rate he didn’t see any other people moving towards Malfoy’s location. Harry finally arrived on the fifth floor after carefully sneaking through the halls and down the finicky staircases. He crept through the alleys on the fifth floor and stopped just around the corner from the secluded area Malfoy was surely in. Harry sighed softly and with a bit of exasperation, thinking that his stalking of Malfoy hadn’t been very interesting so far. He peeked around the corner, ready to confront the Slytherin, but what he saw instead shocked him more than any of the propositions that had crossed his mind earlier. No, Malfoy wasn’t planning a prank or consorting with the enemy or even meeting a girlfriend. He was crying. It took Harry a second to recover from the surprise of it! Out of all the incomprehensible, highly improbable, unexpected things that had happened to him in his life, Harry had never thought he’d be seeing this. Draco Malfoy crying! Ha! What an ironic thought! But even as Harry stood there, he knew that this was no laughing matter. Because Malfoy wasn’t just crying. He was bent over himself, his blond hair hanging over his face, occluding his eyes from view, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, which were drawn up to his torso. His whole body racked with violent, short sobs- the kind of sobbing you do when you’ve just found out that your favourite pet died, or that someone you love is in danger. The kind of sobbing you do when something in your life is changing drastically, when you don’t have any hope left. The kind of sobbing Harry was all too familiar with. Some type of incredulity washed over Harry as he stood there, motionless and invisible, in front of Malfoy. It was strange to see his rival looking so vulnerable, so scared, so human. He’d gotten painfully used to Malfoy’s whimpers and moping about his broken arm, even weeks after it’d been healed, and it had had some “boy who cried wolf” effect on Harry. The only difference in this case was that Malfoy wasn’t just crying wolf. He was screaming it. He hadn’t just had a soft cry in his bed with his curtains drawn, or moped around in the common room with that hardened face bullies get when they want to conceal their emotions. He’d purposefully gone as far away from his people as possible, going so far as to sneak out of the common room to a fifth floor corridor, before opening floodgates of tears. And while Harry wondered why Malfoy was crying, a memory from the summer before surfaced in his mind. He’d taken a handful of Floo powder, shouted “Diagon Alley” and hurtled through the fireplace system, landing in a dark and dingy looking shop that definitely wasn’t in Diagon Alley. He’d begun to explore the store, Borgin and Burks, and wondered how he’d gone wrong when he saw Malfoy peeking through the window, his father close behind. He’d panicked, not wanting to explain to Mr. Malfoy or to Draco why he was in a strange shop alone, so he had hidden in a stone cold sarcophagus. He’d watched as Mr. Malfoy strode into the shop, covertly giving the creepy man at the counter a box, and how Malfoy had seemed strangely subdued. He’d observed the way Malfoy responded to his father’s quietly barked orders in an apprehensive, yet slightly sardonic submission. Lastly, he’d noticed that Mr. Malfoy had commanded respect in a sharp, precise, totalitarian manner, which was not dissimilar to Harry’s own experience with male authority. For some reason, that memory had stuck with him over the past year, and it gave him a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Harry didn’t really have any knowledge when it came to human psychology, but he supposed that being ordered around like a servant instead of being nurtured like a child was extremely emotionally damaging. Hell, Harry didn’t have to have any knowledge of psychology to confirm the truth of that statement. His head was so fucked up after thirteen years with the Dursleys that he was surprised that he even knew his right hand from his left. Anyways, all of this just reinforced, in Harry’s mind at least, the idea that Malfoy had wasted potential. Wasted potential or not, something had to be done about the situation in front of him. Malfoy was still bawling hysterically. Harry watched as he lifted his head and drew his arm back, tossing a ball of parchment against the wall, muttering under his breath. 

“Fuck! Fucking Zabini,” Malfoy spat quietly through his tears. “Should’ve known he was a two-faced git. Oh, god, I’m such an idiot,” he moaned, hugging his legs again and dissolving into another fit of agitated, uncontrollable sobs. 

Harry rolled his eyes inwardly. Maybe he was just making it all up in his head. Why should he give a Golden Snitch about petty Slytherin drama? Had he really wanted to have a reason to feel bad for Malfoy? He shook his head, trying to remind himself that he was Harry Potter and that was Draco Malfoy. He shouldn’t be sympathetic for the other boy’s teenage problems. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was something serious. Harry sighed. It wouldn’t do any good to stand there, immobile, listening to Malfoy’s passionate crying. He had to make a decision on what to do next. He really only had three options. First, he could leave Malfoy some privacy and return to his dormitory and attempt to sleep, while theories about Malfoy’s troubles circled his head. Second, he could continue to stand there under the Invisibility Cloak, and eavesdrop on Malfoy to see if he mentioned anything else about his troubles. Third, he could reveal himself to Malfoy and attempt to be of some empathetic help. The first option would surely drive Harry mad. He already thought about Malfoy enough as it was! He didn’t need to have conspiracies dancing through his head about why Malfoy was sobbing in a fifth floor corridor after midnight on a Thursday in December of 1993. No, that wouldn’t do. The second option was alright, he guessed, but he didn’t really like the idea of watching Malfoy at his most insecure and vulnerable without him knowing. It wasn’t really out of decency for Malfoy in particular, but Harry’s altruistic side had already decided that no one deserved to be eavesdropped on when they were trying to have a good cry, so that option was out. The only option left was the third option, which was...  
oh fuck. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to pull the Invisibility Cloak off and say something like “Hey, Malfoy, I know we hate each other, but you look like something awful right now and I just want to see if I, Saint Potter, can make you feel better even though our relationship up until this point has consisted of insults and curses”? It looked like he was. Harry grimaced. He could already predict how this was going to go: Malfoy would be shocked at seeing Harry, then confused as to how Harry had found him, then angry because Harry had deliberately stalked him to make fun of his troubles (at least, that’s how he’d see it). Harry did not want that to happen. You see, Harry had always had some kind of saviour complex- Malfoy was always rambling on and on about it at any rate, and Harry supposed that it was slightly true. Harry had begun his life by reducing You-Know-Who to a mere fragment of his former self, ending the Great Wizarding War for good. His track record since then had been pretty constant: saving Hermione from a troll, saving the Philosopher’s Stone from Voldemort, saving Dobby from the Malfoy family, saving Ginny from Tom Riddle, saving Hogwarts from a basilisk... why shouldn’t he add one more to the list? Malfoy wouldn’t be too impressed by that, and Harry knew this, but he also couldn’t stand to see someone who was obviously in need of saving so alone. It was in his nature to feel these emotions. So, Harry rationalised, the reckless Gryffindor in him, not a genuine care for Malfoy, was what would lead him to confront his distraught enemy on that chilly winter night. Harry stepped closer to Malfoy, still under the cloak. He had already noted that the piece of crumpled parchment was probably a letter with distressing news, and that Blaise Zabini was involved somehow, antagonistically. He also noted that Malfoy’s crying hadn’t really de-intensified since Harry’s arrival. It came in bouts, and by that point he seemed to be running out of tears. His sobs were dry and cracked, and shook his whole body erratically. He was drawing in tight, short, gasping breaths between them, and his eyes appeared bloodshot in the pale moonlight from the window. It was now or never. Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever confrontation would occur, and started to slip the cloak off of himself. He did it very slowly, still questioning his judgment, but eventually the whole Invisibility Cloak had been removed from Harry’s body and he stood there, fully exposed. For a couple seconds, nothing happened. It seemed as though Malfoy was too engrossed in his self pity to notice, but when he began to adjust his position on the cold, uneven stone floor, Harry immediately knew that Malfoy would notice his presence. Malfoy glanced up, wiping his eyes of tears and drawing in a shaky breath. He still hadn’t noticed Harry, but suddenly he gave a large start as the realisation dawned on him that another person was in the alcove with him. Harry and Malfoy locked eyes for about two seconds before Harry awkwardly blurted, “Malfoy? Uhh... are you, like, alright?”

Malfoy’s eyes spoke volumes. They flashed with shock, confusion, sadness, and finally anger. Harry cursed himself mentally. Why had he even bothered to reveal himself? This would lead to nothing good, he was sure of it. Malfoy was standing up now. He had somehow completely composed himself within a span of a few seconds and was now glaring at Harry with contempt, hatred, and aggression. Suddenly, he was striding towards Harry with clenched fists and tear-stained cheeks, and Harry stumbled backwards into the wall behind him. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy whisper-hissed.

“Uh... I was just... er... well it doesn’t really matter what I was doing out this late. Just... I saw you and I wanted to see what you were up to... so I followed you,” Harry stuttered. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and shoved Harry against the wall, and there was an expression Harry couldn’t quite read in his face. Malfoy was grabbing Harry’s collar now, and he had leaned in so that he was only a few inches away from Harry’s face. Harry gulped. He’d known that Malfoy would be mad, but he had apparently underestimated just how angry he would be. If Harry had to admit it, he was a bit scared of Malfoy in that moment. 

“Well, get the fuck out!” Malfoy yelled quietly, spit flying and hitting Harry on the cheek. “Leave, now! And keep your stupid blabbering mouth shut!” 

Harry sighed inwardly. Why did Malfoy have to close himself off like that? Something was obviously bothering him, and wasn’t like Harry was expecting Malfoy to receive his sympathy, but he could at least be slightly receptive to Harry’s obvious lack of malice and general care for his state of dishevelment. He should know that Harry didn’t want to make fun of him, or harm him. He was intuitive enough, for God’s sake! But none of this information would help Harry in the slightest, because no matter what he said, Malfoy probably wouldn’t budge. 

“No, I’m not going to leave you alone here, Malfoy! You’re... you’re a mess. And I know I shouldn’t care, but...” He trailed off, not really knowing what else to say.

“I don’t need your pity, Potter!” Malfoy sneered, his voice breaking slightly. “Just... go back to bed and leave me be.” 

Harry groaned audibly. “No! Ugh, Malfoy, when will you stop acting like you’re so tough and invincible? Emotions aren’t a bad thing to have, you know. I wish you’d stop acting like you’re fine, because you’re obviously not!”

He could see that Malfoy’s resolve was weakening a bit. He was clearly emotionally exhausted and didn’t have much fight left in him. That didn’t stop Malfoy from serving Harry another scathing response. 

“So I’m a emotional mess! At least I’m not using my emotional breakdowns for my own gain, like they’re something to be proud of! Ever since first year, all I’ve heard about how sad it is that Potter lost his parents to the Dark Lord and how unfortunate it is that Potter lived with horrid Muggle relatives! What does that say about you, huh?” 

Malfoy had backed away from Harry now, and had turned 90 degrees to give a half-hearted theatrical example of Harry’s grasps for pity as he talked. On most days, Harry probably would’ve let righteous anger get the best of him after a comment like that, and it almost did, before Harry remembered something: Malfoy was playing a game with him. Malfoy would lose if he broke his resolve and talked to Harry about whatever was vexing him, and right now he was playing the “Insult Harry’s Family” card, which was usually a useful and unforeseen play that won any match. No. Not tonight. Harry could see right through Malfoy, and his petty attempts to get Harry to abandon him. Harry smirked oddly. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t ask for people to feel sorry for me, Malfoy. It’s just something that happens that is out of my control. Anyways, that’s not the point. I know that you’re just trying to offend me so I’ll go away. I’m not leaving, Malfoy! Will you please just tell me what’s going on? I want to help you! I know it’s weird and unnatural and contrary to every interaction we ever had, but we’re both just people who go through the same emotions for different reasons. I can’t stand there and watch you violently sob and not have some empathy. Please stop trying to push me away! You’ve been doing it ever since I refused your friendship! Just because I didn’t want to be best mates didn’t mean I wanted to hate you either. Has that ever crossed your mind?” Harry breathed sharply at the end of his long-winded paragraph.

Malfoy’s face lost some of its acerbity at this and twinged in confusion. “I don’t want your help, Potter. It’s not like you could do anything about it anyway. It’s... well... complicated, and, and embarrassing and... shameful...”  
Malfoy’s voice cracked with emotion as tears threatened to well up in his eyes again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry comforted as Malfoy’s mask slipped away even further. 

“It’s not okay! I wish you’d leave. It’s nice and all that you care, or whatever, but...” A realisation seemed to dawn on Malfoy at this point. “You’re not leaving, are you?” Malfoy sighed in some type of reluctant submission. 

Harry shook his head rapidly. He couldn’t explain why he cared other than that he had an insufferable need to save others, but he was sure that he did care, and a lot. Some type of curiosity was pulling at him with eagerness and alacrity, and he couldn’t say no to it. Scenarios were dancing through his mind now about, you guessed it, what Malfoy could possibly be crying about. Harry wondered if he was in trouble with Lucius, his father. That idea had crossed his mind several times already. He also wondered what it had to do with Blaise Zabini, since Malfoy had mentioned him between his senseless sobbing. Another thought probed Harry’s brain. What if Voldemort was involved? He certainly hoped not. Voldemort had been planning Harry’s death ever since he was a baby, and even though Voldemort had been greatly weakened by his attempt on Harry’s life, he was still out there somewhere, trying to regain power. And since Mr. Malfoy had slipped the diary into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron... well, let’s just say that the Malfoy’s weren’t on the Light side of things. Harry wondered if Malfoy knew something he didn’t. Something sinister, perhaps. But whatever it was, something in Harry’s underlying conscience was telling him to stop making excuses for why he cared for Malfoy’s mental state. At the end of the day, Harry decided, there was just something about Malfoy that was redeeming to Harry: his wasted potential. Harry admired his intelligence; Malfoy always received outstanding marks on his assignments. Harry admired his way with words, for he could be extremely scathing with them but also extremely convincing, persuasive, and logical. For some reason, Harry also admired some aspects of his personality, like his ability to be kind when he wanted, and his ability to be charming and socially adept. Yes, there was a lot in Malfoy that had been tarnished by his family’s point of view on the world, by his parent’s distant, cold attitude towards him, and maybe most importantly by his own selfish, arrogant nature. Harry wanted so badly for Malfoy to be different, for him to be good. If this was an opportunity to see into Draco Malfoy’s soul, Harry was going to take it, so help him! So, he slid down the wall and assumed a sitting position, inviting Malfoy to sit beside him. Malfoy did so, albeit a bit cautiously, for he still seemed apprehensive about the whole “Harry Potter doesn’t actually hate me” business. 

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, do you want to talk about what’s going on, or... not? I’d be lying if I said I weren’t curious, but if it’s private, I probably shouldn’t pry.”

Malfoy looked at him, surprised. Harry supposed that his general etiquette of not forcing Malfoy to talk was rather shocking to Malfoy in that moment. Then, he regained his composure and said, “No, actually, it might be good to talk about something for once. Especially since I don’t have any friends to talk about this with.” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. No friends?

“What do you mean, Malfoy? You’re practically revered in Slytherin,” he wondered. 

Malfoy looked at him disdainfully. “Just because you’re revered doesn’t mean you’re liked, Potter. And even if you are, it doesn’t mean people won’t backstab you for their own gain. Yeah, a great bunch of friends they were!” He said scathingly, with sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“I guess so. But who’s backstabbing? What the bloody hell happened to you, that you’re well, crying in a corridor? You don’t seem like the crying type,” Harry said. “But maybe you’re overly sensitive or something too; I wouldn’t know,” he added impulsively.

Malfoy glared reproachfully after this statement. “No, for your information, Potter, I’m not sensitive,” he remarked cooly. “You’re right on the first count though. I’m not really the crying type.” 

“Okay,” Harry replied simply.

A silence took over, both boys lost in thoughts and contemplation. Harry thought Malfoy seemed guarded, and for good reason, his brain added. But if he was inferring things correctly from Malfoy’s statements, his friends had betrayed him. He didn’t have anyone to confide in except for his enemies. And if that meant that he would talk to Harry Potter about his woes, his trust in his Slytherin housemates must’ve been fractured beyond repair. Finally, Malfoy spoke. 

“Potter, I’m going to tell you about this, not because I like you, but because I know you’re righteous and saintly enough to listen to me vent without being too much of a prat about it,” Malfoy remarked. 

Harry shrugged, not denying the statement.

“I guess it kind of all started at the beginning of this year,” Malfoy began slowly. “Well, maybe not. I think it probably started a long time ago, but I just decided to ignore it. But, I’ve fucked everything up because of it, and... it didn’t even cross my mind that it would affect anything... I’m so stupid, Potter, I really am. To be honest, I don’t know why I’m even bothering to talk to you about this. You’ll probably be just as bigoted as the rest of them.” 

Harry really was confused now. Since when was Malfoy a victim of bigotry? A righteous indignation sprung up in him. Malfoy was always the one inflicting harm and promoting prejudice. How hypocritical of him to claim that Harry could be bigoted! Yet, Harry kept his sudden glaring temper intact, for he didn’t know the whole story, and replied evenly, “If you’re being discriminated against because of the prejudices of purebloods, I doubt it’s anything offensive to me.” 

Malfoy nodded, unsure of himself, before continuing. “I suppose so. Well, ever since I was little, Father and Mother always told me how much of an honour it was to have magic in my blood, and not only that, but to be a pureblood instead of a mudblood. It wasn’t just that I was a pureblood, either. I was a Malfoy. I came from a traditional wizarding family with power and prestige and wealth. I swear, the day I proved to my parents I could form a cognitive thought, they sat me down and told me all about my duties as the Malfoy Heir. To marry a pureblood witch, to produce an heir. They told me about what the Dark Lord was fighting for, before you defeated him. Father was so proud to be You-Know-Who’s second-in-command during the war, and I wanted nothing more than to impress Father, to live up to his expectations. I was so proud of him for attaining that position, for fighting for what was right, and when he told all of these grand stories of attacks on Muggles and terrorising our inferiors, I revelled in it. But honestly, everything came crashing down when I came to Hogwarts.” 

Harry wasn’t surprised by any of this information; he’d thought as much anyway, but hearing Malfoy talk about it in a solemn, even slightly remorseful way was strangely entrancing to Harry. 

“Go on,” he urged.

A sense of grudging was evident in Malfoy’s tone now. “Father really wanted me to be friends with you. You see, he thought that you could be another Dark Lord, one more powerful than You-Know-Who, and that that was why you defeated him that night. I thought you were this awesome, powerful, Dark wizard. And then I met you, and you were talking to... to Weasley and trying to tell me that I was the wrong sort. Ugh, and then at the sorting ceremony you were put in bloody Gryffindor! Not only did this completely destroy Father’s theory, but from that moment on, you and your stupid little friends have gotten all the glory! Every year, it seems like you go on some ridiculous adventure with Weasel and Granger, gallivanting around with stones and snakes and now a fucking serial killer! Every fantasy I’d had for myself just... went out the window. I’m always second rate! You always win Quidditch games when we play against one another as Seekers, even though I was the one who was known by my friends and family to be the best flyer. The mudblood...” Harry tensed up at this, “... is always top of the school for grades, and guess what I am? Second best. I always had perfect marks when I was tutored at home, and now I go home to my father and it isn’t good enough because I’m not top of the class. Everything I should’ve had, you stole from me! I’m a failure for a Malfoy heir, that’s the real truth of it, Potter, and I’ve just gone and proved that to everyone with my latest lapse of judgment. Are you happy now? Your little gallivants into the depths of Hogwarts with your friends have ruined my life. Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

For some reason, this impassioned speech rendered Harry unable to respond to Malfoy’s accusations. Was that how Malfoy really felt? Was that why Malfoy had hated him all those years? And what had Malfoy done now in terms of being a disappointment to his family name? Part of Harry wanted to retaliate against Malfoy for blaming him for his apparent misfortunes. Harry hadn’t chosen to be good at being a Seeker, and, Harry thought triumphantly, the only reason he’d been able to play for the Gryffindor team his first year was because of Malfoy’s provocation. In a way, Malfoy had mucked that up for himself by being an arrogant twat. And blaming Harry for Hermione’s brilliance! Being around Harry hadn’t somehow “enhanced” Hermione’s brain. She had been an insufferable know-it-all, as Snape liked to say, since the day they’d met on the Hogwarts Express. No, that wasn’t Harry’s doing. Even more absurd was Malfoy’s constant need to make Harry feel bad for saving everyone’s asses from Voldemort. Of course, knowing Malfoy’s family, he’d probably be in favor of Voldemort’s return, but Malfoy’s anger didn’t seem to be directed towards Harry’s defeat of someone he supposedly praised. It seemed be directed toward the repercussions of Harry’s victory instead. Malfoy was envious of the glory and fame Harry had, but again, a hole had occurred in Malfoy’s reasoning. Malfoy seemed to think that Harry had asked for Voldemort to be after his throat, that he’d asked for his parents to be dead, that he’d asked for whispers and gossip about him in the halls of Hogwarts and shops of Diagon Alley, that he’d asked for stress, pressure, anxiety, scrutiny, abnormality, abuse, manipulation, and all the other negative things that came with being the Boy Who Lived. No, Harry wouldn’t wish any of it on his worst enemy. He’d had no choice in the matter. And maybe this was why Harry felt the slightest twinge of sympathy for Malfoy, not because he hadn’t gotten the glory he so selfishly desired for himself, but because of the circumstances he was under that made him desire glory. He had expectations on him too, Harry realised. They were very different expectations, but Malfoy carried them with the same weight that Harry carried his own. He had to maintain a perfect image as a pureblood Heir. Harry also realised how ignorant he was about this. He’d grown up with Muggles and known nothing of magic for the first eleven years of his life, and even when he entered the wizarding world, he hadn’t associated with any of the pureblood supremacists. He had no idea what kind of pressure Malfoy must be feeling to be absolutely perfect, just like Malfoy had no idea how it was for Harry and his title as Saviour of the Wizarding World. Then, possibly the brightest idea he’d had yet appeared in his mind. The idea was this: they’d spent so much time loathing one another that they’d never stopped to consider their striking similarities to one another. Harry mused over this for a moment before finally realising that he’d left Malfoy hanging on an awkward silence.

“Potter? Stunned you into silence, have I?” Malfoy’s voice took on a bit of the smarmy tone he was known for as he said this. 

Harry shook his head. “Listen here Malfoy. Haven’t you ever considered that we’re really not that different?” 

Malfoy was extremely nonplussed by this. “No, of course I haven’t! What makes you think that?” 

Harry chuckled ruefully and shook his head, a strange smile on his face. “Well, I think we’ve misunderstood one another. I think you’re some stuck up spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver plate by his prestigious father. And you think I’m some attention-seeking idiot who steals your glory on purpose. Malfoy, we’re both just boys who have a lot of pressure on us to live up to others expectations. That’s basically exactly what you’ve just said.” 

Malfoy huffed. “You are an attention seeking idiot, Potter!”

“No, I’m not! I never asked for any of this either, Malfoy! I never asked to be orphaned! I never asked for my parents to be dead!” Harry whisper-shouted with passion and desperation.

Malfoy seemed taken aback by this, like he’d never even considered that Harry didn’t have any parents. Yet, he scoffed with malice in his voice and replied, “I wish mine were dead.” 

Harry snapped his head up, thinking Malfoy must be joking, or leading him on. However, when he looked into Malfoy’s conflicted, pained, deep grey eyes, he knew otherwise. Harry’s face softened. “Merlin, Malfoy. What have you failed so badly at this time that it’s irreconcilable with your parents?”

Malfoy’s lip began to quaver again at this question, but he controlled himself and spoke in a small shaky voice. “It isn’t so much what I did, Potter. It’s what Blaise and Pansy did.” 

Harry wasn’t surprised to hear mention of Blaise’s name, but the inclusion of Pansy and the connection of the two of them to Malfoy’s parents was news to him. He prodded on. 

“So, what did they do?”

Malfoy sighed deeply, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders, which had been tensed up for the whole conversation. Harry knew that he was trying to calm himself, before Malfoy spoke again. 

“I should probably start at the beginning of this whole thing. During first year, Father and I had a conversation over Christmas about my marks. He was very upset that a mudblood was a better student than me. He told me that it was an outrage that a pureblood wizard such as myself wasn’t performing better in class than a common muggleborn witch. He said that I had to get my marks up, and I tried to tell him that it’s bloody impossible to outwork and outsmart Granger no matter how much brains you have, but he didn’t listen. He just continued the same speech he always gave me about my duty to the family line and asked if I liked any of the pureblood girls in my year, if I thought I’d be suited to any of them. I said I didn’t know, but that I had become friends with Pansy and with Daphne Greengrass. He seemed pleased and that was that. I’ve always been his pride and joy anyway, so most of the time my failures in the academic and athletic aspects of life were let go and they were quick to give me everything I wanted. It seems so weird now, I was just eleven years old then. I was just a little kid. 

“Well, I don’t know, I started going through puberty over the summer between first and second year,” Malfoy began awkwardly, obviously  
trying to word it in a way that wasn’t too embarrassing.

Harry stifled a laugh. “I can’t relate,” he admitted, thinking of how he had remained a runty child until the end of second year.

“Ugh, this is so weird to talk about with you,” Malfoy began disdainfully. “Er, anyways, when I got back for second year, Crabbe and Goyle always had all these things for different girls, er...and, uh, I never thought any of them were cute or anything, I guess. Like, I never had a crush on anyone. It was just awkward for me, while everyone sat there talking about their crush, or how they’d held hands with a girl, and I had to pretend like I did all those things too.”

As Malfoy continued to talk, Harry’s brain raced from one topic to another, trying to connect the dots. Harry didn’t think it was especially strange that Malfoy hadn’t liked a girl, since he hadn’t either. Sure, he found some of them ridiculously cute, but he hadn’t given dating or even pining much thought. Harry wasn’t too concerned with it. He had plenty of time to discover girls when he wasn’t trying to defeat Voldemort, win Quidditch games, and survive Potions classes. He did have plenty of time after all, for he was only thirteen. Why did Malfoy find it to be an important plot point in his failures? Harry didn’t really have any idea how it fit in with anything besides the whole “carry on the family name” thing, but Malfoy couldn’t even get married until he turned seventeen. He had plenty of time to find a girl he liked. The more logical part of Harry’s brain took over at this point. The way Malfoy’d said “I never thought any of them were cute, or anything”, and the way he’d approached the conversation so hesitantly, and the way he talked about it as if he would never like a girl seemed to be inferring something different. That could only mean one thing. What if Malfoy was gay? That was definitely an absurd idea. Just to be sure, Harry tuned his brain back into the conversation. 

“Anyways, the whole business with the Chamber of Secrets happened, and then second year was suddenly over and I was going home to the Manor for the summer. And then, well, things started, uh, happening.”

Malfoy had turned a deep, crimson shade of red, and his cheeks shimmered in the moonlight as his tears slowly dried. Harry could tell he was getting uncomfortable.

“Yes?” 

“Well, my mother would host these dinner parties and my father would invite all these people from the Ministry, and then they’d talk about boring adult business shit. But most of the witches and wizards he’d invite were young and attractive, and that’s when I started noticing... uh... how handsome, er, men are.”

Malfoy paused here. The cat was out of the bag now, and he was obviously gaging Harry’s reaction and waiting for him to say something. So, Harry had been right. Malfoy was gay! Harry couldn’t say that he was necessarily surprised by this information, although he’d never considered it as a possibility previously. The more he thought about it though, the more it made sense. 

“So, you’re gay then, Malfoy?” Harry asked in clarification.

“Yeah, I am. Do you care?” Malfoy asked nervously.

Harry gave him an odd look. Why should Malfoy care what Harry thought of his sexuality? Even if Harry were homophobic, it wasn’t like anything would be different; they would still dislike each other. Then, Harry remembered that Malfoy was literally pouring his heart and soul out, that he was trusting Harry with his feelings. In showing that he cared enough to listen to Malfoy’s troubles, Harry had inadvertently caused Malfoy to suddenly put weight on Harry’s opinions. 

“No, I don’t care who you’re attracted to, Malfoy,” Harry said, exhaling deeply at the end of his sentence. 

Malfoy shrugged. 

“I guess it just goes to show how fucked up I am. No sensible pureblood wizard is gay, even I know that, but that didn’t stop me from making the worst decisions of my life.”

Harry sighed and looked at him sympathetically. “Malfoy, there’s nothing wrong with your identity, you know. It’s just like you said, they expect you to produce an heir. I get it. But you can’t change it about yourself, can you? You have tried, haven’t you?”

Malfoy shivered involuntarily and said in a suddenly broken voice, “Of course I’ve tried, Potter! Think about it, me, the Malfoy heir, fantasising about how it would feel to... to... hold a boy in my arms and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, or how I would feel to press my lips to his and feel that rush you get, you know? It’s preposterous!” Malfoy spluttered.

Harry didn’t know. He didn’t understand the half of it. For starters, he’d never kissed someone in his life! But he also couldn’t imagine how much turmoil those feelings caused his nemesis. Underneath it all, Harry knew that Malfoy was human, and had struggles just like him. This had frustrated him immensely. Malfoy acted like he was invincible, and that everything he got was handed to him on a silver platter, just like that. And maybe in most ways that had been true, before his gay little problem, Harry mused thoughtfully. Maybe this was the thing that would finally break him! Maybe this was the thing that would force him to change, to be better, to reach his potential! Harry sighed inwardly. Why did he care so much? Maybe it wasn’t just “wasted potential”. After all, none of him wanted Voldemort to change, to be a better person, to discover what love was, and he was intelligent, wickedly cunning, and powerful too. Harry supposed Malfoy hadn’t ever killed any of his family members, which gave him a slight advantage over the Dark Lord, but still... Malfoy was terrible to him. Two years ago, he would’ve said that Malfoy deserved what he had gotten: no parents. And here Malfoy was now, seeming to have gotten that very thing in a hypothetical aspect, for Harry was sure that the piece of parchment on the floor was a scathing letter from his father, and Harry felt sorry for him. Harry couldn’t explain it, but something about the boy’s pained expression drew out these feelings from deep within, feelings he’d never had before. They seemed to be feelings of an intense type of sympathy, feelings of anxiety about Malfoy’s current state, and feelings of terrible lurching in his chest every time he looked in Malfoy’s conflicted, mysterious grey eyes. So no, Harry didn’t know. He didn’t know what that was like at all. 

“So why feel so horribly about something you can’t change about yourself? It’s just a fact of your being, Malfoy. Ideology doesn’t have a place in it. You don’t have a choice, like you do when you choose your values. Your family just chose the wrong ones,” Harry reasoned.

Malfoy sighed. “I don’t know, Potter. I guess it doesn’t really matter now, because I’ve gone and done it. I’ve proven to everyone that I’m not the perfect Malfoy heir everyone thought I was, that even I thought I was,” he said in an angst filled tone. “The long and short of it is that when I came back for third year, I got it really bad for Blaise Zabini. I saw him on the Hogwarts Express and he had abs and this fucking wink I couldn’t seem to get away from. And he was smart, and witty, and ambitious... ugh, I was practically whipped! Then, Pansy Parkinson had a lightbulb moment about how I’m an heir to a sum of money and also conventionally attractive, so she started getting all googly-eyed over me and would whisper to her friends about me and do it just loud enough so I would hear and take the hint, you know? And then there’s me, having my little problem, thinking there’s no way I’d ever like Pansy anyway because of how snappish she is, I mean, can you imagine finally getting the chance to live in a house where you aren’t receiving manipulative, veiled remarks all the time by your parents and then choosing someone like her? You’d have to be mad! Anyways, eventually it was going to be a Hogsmeade weekend and because that’s the only time you can really go on a proper date, Pansy decided that her fluttering about wasn’t satisfactory enough and asked me out. I, of course, being what I am, turned her down immediately and told her I wasn’t interested. Of course, this ruffled her feathers way more than I’d intended, you know how girls are, all unforgiving and jealous and dramatic...” Harry mentally laughed at the irony of this. “...and she wouldn’t let it go. She was persistent about it and kept pointing out that she was a perfect fit for me, and that we’d been great friends as children, and that she was a pureblood, and what the hell could possibly be wrong with me since I hadn’t wanted to go on a bloody date with her. I guess she was just as gone for me as I was for Blaise, and at any rate, she’s always been perceptive. I guess it was right of her to assume that there was something up with me. I’d stayed quiet about my crush on Blaise, but I must’ve been more obvious about it than I intended because she picked up on it immediately. She was going around saying all this stuff about how I was totally gay and how I was going to bring shame and dishonour on the family name. No one really took it seriously except for her, and I guess Blaise. We’d been getting closer more recently too. I had been getting hopeful that he liked me too, but I was scared about what would happen if he actually did. One night a couple weeks ago, he and I were sat in the common room alone having another one of our deep conversations about life and family and politics and we got on the topic of girls, I don’t know how, but he asked me if I fancied a girl and I said no. He agreed with me, and said he preferred my company to any girl’s. Potter, all of the subtext was there, and I just knew that he knew and that he got it... ugh, I don’t know. I was so stupid. I thought that I could have this fairytale ending with Blaise without having to deal with being a fucking disgrace to my family. But anyways, I asked him why he preferred me over a girl and he said ‘you know exactly why that is, Draco’ in that sweet, kind, deceitful voice of his and I told him that I didn’t. I was playing hard to get or something, I don’t know, it doesn’t even matter now, but he replied with ‘Why, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I fancy you, and you fancy me’ and I said ‘Well Blaise, what took you so long to figure that out’ and he said ‘You’re Draco Malfoy. You’re not supposed to be sitting here, telling a boy you fancy him. It just takes a little getting used to, I guess. But you never had any regard for the rules, did you? That’s why I like you Draco. You’re easily provoked’ which I thought was weird because how is that attractive? Little fucker, going about and lying already. I’m not easily provoked! But anyways, I told him that I thought he was extremely intelligent and handsome and probably made a fool of myself, but he seemed to be eating it up and eventually it got to the point where I asked him if I could kiss him. His lips turned up into a wicked smirk, and I could tell that he wanted it. He wanted it so bad, and I got this... this... unexplainable rush through my whole body like what I’d waited for for months was finally happening. I’d dreamed about how it would feel to press my lips to his, and how it would feel to cup his gorgeous face and feel the high of heightened senses flow through my veins.” 

Harry coughed hoarsely, and spluttered, “Malfoy, I don’t need all the details.” 

He could feel that his face had heated and that he was blushing terribly, but what else did Malfoy expect? You couldn’t just hit a guy with eloquently spoken details about snogging and anticipate him to react any differently! All Harry could do as he sat there listening to the poor sop that was Malfoy was imagine the scene of Malfoy telling Blaise he wanted him, of Malfoy staring at Blaise with those deep, intense, passionate grey eyes, and of Malfoy relaxing into the sated pleasure of finally reaching the climax of all those pent up emotions. He felt a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned Malfoy gathering Blaise close into him and holding him with a tight, yet steady grip as they snogged each other senseless. It was almost too much to bear! Presently, Malfoy continued after giving Harry an exasperated eye roll.

“Well, I enjoy embarrassing you, so allow me to continue,” Malfoy prattled on. “He had this hungry look in his eyes and he did that little eye flick thing over my face that people do before they kiss each other, you know?” 

Harry shrugged. “Not really. I’ve never kissed someone.” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Well, it was dead quiet in the common room, and I guess before you kiss someone you become hyper focused on them. Our faces were inches apart and the tension was so palpable. He nodded slowly, and so I pushed him flat against the couch and basically just went in for the kill. You see, we had been sitting facing one another parallel to the back of the couch, so when I pushed him back, I did it rather forcefully. I climbed onto him so I was kind of straddling him and pinning him down. He was very surprised to say the least. But I cupped his face and he kind of froze and I pulled him in and kissed him. He was totally rigid and shoved me back. I was a little confused but he looked even more so. I asked if it was okay and I was going to get off of him but he pulled me back in and crashed onto my lips again and we snogged for a few minutes and that was that. And then we never really talked about it. We just kind of got along the same way. And then, today... I got a letter from my father.” 

Malfoy sighed sharply. Harry looked into his eyes, and Malfoy gazed back with a look that said a million words. Harry scanned Malfoy’s face, curiosity coursing through his veins. Malfoy looked worn, like the whole day had emotionally depleted him, but Harry knew how important it was for him to talk. Hermione had taught him that. Malfoy also looked gaunt, like he hadn’t felt invigorated for awhile. It seemed as if Malfoy’s identity crisis was deeper rooted than just his sexuality: it had ties to his family too.

“He had gotten a letter from Pansy and Blaise, which told him of all my deviances this year. Pansy told him of my lack of interest in her and other girls in general, and Blaise boasted of his naïvety in our friendship, thinking that we were just ‘close’ and giving some bullshit about how surprised he was when I pushed him against the sofa and kissed him. And of course Pansy was lurking in the corner with her camera, and she captured the whole thing. Look, here’s the picture.” 

Malfoy leaned forward and grabbed the crumpled up parchment that he had thrown previously and unfolded it. Harry could see a magical photograph in the centre of the wrinkled letter, just above Lucius Malfoy’s neat, sharp, and calligraphic handwriting and Narcissa Malfoy’s loopy, even cursive. Malfoy picked it up with a shaky hand and handed it to Harry. 

“Lumos,” Harry muttered after pulling his wand out.

In front of him lay a bent photograph, the motions playing over and over. Harry stared at it, mesmerised. In the picture, everything was just as Malfoy had said. Blaise was sat against the back of the couch, a surprised look on his face. Malfoy was straddling Blaise’s lap, smirking mischievously. Then, Malfoy took Blaise’s face in his hands, a tender yet determined, hungry look painting his features, and leaned in, capturing Blaise’s lips in his own. Blaise went rigid, and pushed Malfoy off with a confused, slightly disgusted expression. It replayed over and over again. Harry couldn’t stop watching Malfoy and how he was so gentle yet so dominating. He wondered what it would be like to share that with someone in the way Malfoy did. He had so clearly cared for Blaise, and yet Harry felt an anger flare in his chest at the mere thought of Blaise taking those feelings and decimating them, defiling them, and making Malfoy hurt. Pansy clearly had motive in her actions; Draco had turned down her proposition to date. But why would Blaise do such a thing? What did he have against Malfoy?

“Malfoy, why would Blaise lead you on like that? I mean, Parkinson makes sense, but Blaise? Wasn’t he, well, into it?” Harry inquired awkwardly.

Malfoy snorted. “Yeah, the two-faced hypocrite was definitely into it. I’d say he’s just as bad as me. No one can act that well, after we’d finished making out he was totally wrecked. I don’t know why he did it, Potter,” he remarked sadly now. “I think he wants my status, and the only way he could earn the title of ‘Slytherin Prince’ was to fucking ruin my whole life. I’m guessing Pansy had been put out by my lack of interest and wanted to get back at me so her and Blaise planned the whole thing so that I would be the one to kiss him, not the other way around. The cunning fucks made it look like I came onto Blaise without his consent, when really he said he wanted it.”

“Hmm,” Harry mused. “Malfoy, what did your parents say? If you don’t mind my asking,” he added cautiously.

Another sigh issued itself from Malfoy’s lips. “Mother was at least nice about it. She mostly just pities that I would feel such things in the first place but is, and I quote, ‘disturbed that I would force my filthy nature on other students and openly promote a disgusting deviance’. Father’s disappointed also. He tells me that I will marry a pureblood witch whether I like it or not and tells me that any further incidences of unnatural, disgraceful relations between me and other boys will not be tolerated. It’s hard to tell with them. They care about me, but they won’t listen to my feelings and opinions. I can’t just talk to them, you know? I just want someone, Potter. Not a follower or someone I can control. I thought I wanted that. Maybe I did, but everything’s different now. My secrets out, my parents aren’t happy, and I don’t even know what I’m doing with myself, and I don’t even know if everything I’ve believed about the world and society is right or wrong anymore. Don’t you see my problem?” 

And with that declaration, Malfoy slumped down from his upright position with a moody huff. Even though Malfoy was clearly going through a very rough time, some little part in Harry’s soul was rejoicing. Malfoy’s sexuality crisis had been the thing to make him question his bigoted views, his holier-than-thou attitude, and apparently his treatment of others like Harry. The implication that Malfoy was thinking differently about blood status could potentially change everything about Malfoy’s course of action in life, as well as his relationships with people and his positions of power. Hell, it already had. He was in hot water with his parents, was confiding in Harry Potter, and had lost any glory he’d had in Slytherin house. Harry wasn’t sure exactly what to make of it, but he supposed he could at least attempt to give Malfoy some (probably terrible) advice.

“Malfoy, you are aware of the reason I dislike you, are you not?”  
Harry asked.

Malfoy looked surprised and a bit confused. He gave Harry the strangest look before saying, “No, not really. I just assumed it was because you thought you were better than everyone, especially me.”

“Malfoy... I mean honestly, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s never been about being better than you, or anyone else. I hate my title, and I hate the fact that I can’t have a normal life and be invisible. I’ve never understood why you, or even Ron, want power and glory and something to define you and make you important and superior. All I ever wanted was a family who loved me, Malfoy. And... you had that. You had your father who would pull strings for you, and give you anything you ever wanted, and your mother who... who... nurtured you, and cared for you, and gave you a shoulder to cry on. When I met you, you reminded me of my cousin. My aunt and uncle raised me, and they hate me. They hate magic, and hate my parents. They spoil my cousin and give him everything, and it’s like he doesn’t even understand how lucky he is. He’s not grateful for all the things Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia give him. He carries himself like you do, like he’s the most entitled asshole ever to walk the Earth, like his opinions on everything are correct. He’s arrogant, and cruel, and spoiled, and he has his own gang of cronies that bully me when I go home for summer holidays. He’s like the Muggle prototype of you. So of course I hated you. You both treat me like shit and you both take for granted the love of your family. Malfoy, you’ve never had to lose anything before, so you’ve never understood what it’s like to gain ownership of your thought. I’ve had to think on my own since I was a fucking toddler, and your parents have told you what to think since you ‘could form a cognitive thought’, as you said. No disrespect Malfoy, but your parents views are shit.”

Malfoy’s confliction was evident in his tone as he attempted to respond. “I don’t know, Potter. Maybe you’re right, I’ve never thought anything for myself. Everything about blood status is so confusing to me now. I used to just... accept that what I was told was true. But ever since I realised that I was interested in boys, I came to the conclusion that maybe my parents aren’t right about everything. What if the exception is the rule, Potter? Us purebloods can’t stay locked in our ideological ways forever, when there’s a whole world of people out there who aren’t much different than us. But, at the same time, purebloods have the most magical history and magical dominance, whereas mudbloods don’t understand our culture, or our ways. They come from Muggle parents, and Muggles are terrible. Even you say that your cousin was an ass.” 

“Malfoy, you were just as much of an ass as my cousin, and you have the most perfect magical blood to exist. And how can you say that Muggles are terrible? Have you ever actually met a Muggle?” Harry challenged.

Malfoy was trapped by this. “I guess not. But that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t have magical ability! They are automatically lesser than us because of that. Magic indicates superiority, even you can’t argue with that. Magical people inherently have more skills and a new kind of intelligence that Muggles don’t.”

“Have you ever actually met a gay person? Well, I guess not. But that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t have the ability to reproduce. They are automatically lesser than straight people because of that. Procreation indicates superiority, even you can’t argue with that. Heterosexual people are above homosexuals because they can naturally create a child and therefore a new intelligent being,” Harry rephrased, before pausing for a second. “Magical ability isn’t everything, Malfoy. Just like reproduction isn’t the most important part of a relationship, contrary to what your parents might say. You have to stop recognising people’s worth in the inherent skills and abilities they were born with. People can be intelligent and be assholes. You are a prime example. People can be idiots and be assholes. My cousin Dudley is also a prime example. Dumbledore told me once that it’s not our abilities that define us. It’s our choices. I think he’s right. We all make choices, Malfoy. We’re all flawed, and to some degree I think we all are tempted to pull a Voldemort and try to obtain unlimited power. But if we choose to contradict that... selfish part of ourself bent upon ruining others for our own gain... we better ourselves.”

Harry finished his long-winded paragraph and decided to allow Malfoy to chew on his philosophical ideas. Harry didn’t really know where that had all come from, but he suspected that his end-of-year life lessons from Dumbledore and Hermione’s incessant rambling about the sins and volition of humanity had led to his sudden wisdom. Another part of him knew, however, that he needed Malfoy to understand him, that he wanted him to change so badly for not only Malfoy’s own sake, but for the sake of everyone around him. Harry had reached into the deepest part of himself and pulled out all of the truth he could muster, knowing how important this conversation was for Malfoy’s well-being. Malfoy sighed plaintively now, and Harry gazed into his eyes, which were full of a slightly dissipating storm of confusion. 

“I want to better myself, Potter. At least, I want to try. I never realised how much of an asshole I was until I got a taste of my own medicine. Maybe you’re right about everything else, too. Maybe I can’t help this whole... gay... thing. And Muggles can’t help how they were born. Oh god, Muggleborns can’t help how they were born either. I’ve been doing the same thing Blaise and Pansy did to me to people like... like... Granger. Potter, I’ve been a prat,” Malfoy said in stages of emphasis, realisation, and finally apology. 

Harry shot Malfoy a slightly surprised look. “Are you actually sorry, Malfoy?”

“I think I am. At least, I want to be. I don’t want to make fun of people anymore because of who they are. Frankly, it’s ruining me, Potter, to have Blaise and Pansy making fun of me like this, ostracising me and telling my parents about my stupid identity crisis. It would be dumb of me to think other people don’t feel the same way when I mock them. I just wish... I wish I hadn’t disappointed my family,” Malfoy began to choke up again as he continued to talk. “And I don’t have any friends, Potter. I’m tired and I just want to sleep and wake up to a world where I have someone I can trust.” 

Harry looked at Malfoy with a twinge of sadness. He knew how Malfoy felt, right down to the core. It was just that Harry’d never experienced having everything, instead he’d always had nothing. The mentality of just wanting a friend had been with Harry his whole life, but it had been with Malfoy for only a few hours. And suddenly, Harry was filled with so much empathy for his rival, if Malfoy could even be called that anymore, that he made a decision that Hermione would call impulsive and Ron would say was “off the rocker”. 

Harry held out his hand and declared, “I’m Potter. Harry Potter. You are in need of a good friend you can trust. I can help you with that.”

Malfoy looked astonished!  
“Potter... I... what the fuck? How do you remember what I said when we met? And you want to be my friend! If you’re leading me on right now, I swear to God-“

“No, Malfoy, I am serious. All I ever wanted when I came to Hogwarts was a true friend, and Hermione and Ron gave me that. See, Malfoy, the reason I didn’t shake your hand that day was because you wouldn’t have been that for me. You radiated arrogance and pretentious spoiled asshole. Right now, Malfoy, you are radiating humanity and kindness and empathy and logic. And as far as remembering your introduction... well, let’s just say you tend to make quite the impression.” 

Malfoy regained a bit of his swagger (probably from all the compliments that were suddenly flowing from Harry’s lips- he wasn’t really sure where they were coming from) and responded in a slightly flirtatious sounding tone, “I know I do, Potter. As for that friendship... I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.” 

Malfoy’s eyes held an air of finality, and Harry dropped his hand, defeated. A surge of emotion overcame him as he wondered where he had gone wrong. Finally, after months of thinking about Malfoy, loathing him, noticing him, circling around him, and wondering what would happen if Malfoy used his brain and thought about how damaging he was to others, Malfoy had come around and begun to think in a more positive light. A part of him had always thought that Malfoy didn’t care about other people, that he was a self-serving narcissist with daddy issues, but tonight had proved differently. Malfoy definitely cared about other people, at least he had cared about the people he knew were clean and pure. But Malfoy was teachable. He had wanted a way out of thinking that Muggleborns were filthy mudbloods, undeserving of education or even life. And maybe he was a self serving narcissist, but he expressed desire to change. Was that enough for Harry? Was an empty promise of intent reason to forgive Malfoy for all of his actions and decisions? Then, Harry remembered a quote that Hermione had pasted inside one of her folders. He hadn’t paid much attention to it previously, but as he sat there, he could see it in his mind clear as day. It read, "Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you…into something a little different than it was before. And taking your life as a whole…all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature". Well, maybe it wasn’t reason enough. But Harry had seen such sincerity, such raw emotion, that he knew Malfoy’s resolve to be true. And so with this new revelation, Harry was able to answer the questions swirling in his head about why he cared so much: Malfoy was no longer wasting his potential. He would become a new person, a better boy, a changed human. Harry’s heart ached as he wondered why Malfoy would refuse his extension of friendship after Harry had so clearly helped him and set him right. Was the animosity between them still that great? After everything they had discussed and cried about and mulled over together? Harry had felt a sudden connection to Malfoy over those minutes they had talked, like their emotions had intertwined with each other, and he thought it strange. Because as he continued to ponder it, he realised he’d never felt this way about Ron and Hermione. He’d never felt this level of intimacy through just one conversation, and neither Ron or Hermione had ever stared at him with the challenging intensity that Malfoy had been for that whole night, for that whole year, and fuck it, since they met. It drew him in and fascinated him beyond all else, and it made him hyper aware of Malfoy all the time, whether it be in classes they shared, at dinners they ate, or when they passed one another in the halls. There had to be a reason that he couldn’t get Malfoy out of his damn mind. Something was very wrong with him. Very wrong indeed. A small snort from Malfoy pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the present universe. Harry looked on as Malfoy giggled to himself. Harry was flabbergasted! The nerve of him, to refuse Harry’s handshake, and then laugh about it like the git he was!

“HAHAHA...you should see your face right now, Potter! You look like someone just told you that your pet crup died!” Malfoy wheezed between fits of laughter. “Damn, I didn’t know you’d be that put out if I said no. I was just kidding, you prat. I mean that Blaise and Pansy are the wrong sort, not you!”

It was Harry’s turn to look astonished. “Oh, fuck you, Malfoy!” He groaned. “Friends?” 

Malfoy gave him a genuine smile, the first one Harry’d ever seen on his lips. “Friends,” he agreed, shaking Harry’s hand. 

The mood turned a bit somber again as both boys regarded one another with a cautious, yet satisfied expression on their faces. 

“This won’t be easy, you know. Being a blood traitor, or whatever your wacky relatives call it.” 

Malfoy sighed shakily. “I know. But I’m tired of letting everyone dictate who I am. I’m sick of being fucked over by the people who are supposed to care about me, because no matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough for them. But at least I’ll have you for a friend, won’t I?”

This warmed Harry’s heart tremendously, to know that Malfoy considered him to be moral support. “Yeah. It’s just... Malfoy, you’re going to have to prove that you’re different. I believe you, but maybe it is my stupid Gryffindor self just being merciful and all that rot. You have to apologise to Ron and Hermione, and you have to stop being a prat. And if you do that, know that Ron and Hermione and I will be there for you. We’ll be true friends. But you have to prove that you’re worthy of our forgiveness. Believe it or not, I like you, Malfoy. This Malfoy that I met tonight. You’re smart and witty and passionate about things, and you care about people. So show me that this is who you really are.” 

Harry cursed himself inwardly. Since when did he like Malfoy? He was starting to sound desperate and he didn’t like it. Even Malfoy looked a bit nonplussed, raising his eyebrows and flushing, a faint pink appearing on his cheeks. 

“Okay, Potter. Challenge accepted.” 

Malfoy smiled faintly, and Harry observed him as the light brightened in the window. It must have been getting closer to dawn, and the twilight accentuated Malfoy’s features. Harry allowed his eyes to glide over the other boy. Malfoy really did have stark white blond hair, which somehow managed to look relatively sleek even after his emotional breakdown. His facial structure was as defined as ever, and his jawline was looking more square thanks to his recent maturing. His nose had a regal air about it, somehow always turned up and proud. He was still very skinny, but his slight frame was now accentuated by muscle that he’d earned from playing Quidditch. His legs were long and slender, as were his arms, probably a byproduct of growing so quickly. But the thing that captivated Harry most was his eyes. A deep, mysterious blue-grey they were, usually flashing with fiery intensity or staring with an icy glare. But right now, they radiated contentment and joy, his smile reaching his eyes. Yet, they never lost their intensity. Malfoy always stared at Harry like he was challenging him to something, like he either wanted to beat him to a pulp or shove him up against a wall and snog him senseless. When had that started, anyway? The sexual tension, the circling each other, the fascination? Harry couldn’t stop himself from taking in all of Malfoy’s features and admiring them with interest. It wasn’t difficult to notice that Malfoy was conventionally attractive, Harry decided. Blaise Zabini had really been an idiot to push Malfoy away like that. That kiss had been hot. Harry glanced away from Malfoy, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts (and was attempting not to succumb to sleep), and decided to view that picture again. The way Malfoy had so gently caressed Blaise’s face, while still gazing at him with that same hungry fire in his eyes made Harry feel things. Things he didn’t really want to describe. Why was Harry, who had considered himself to be straight for all of his thirteen years, getting so hot and bothered over a photograph of two boys he vehemently disliked (okay, one boy he vehemently disliked) making out on a sofa? Why was Harry feeling breathless after viewing Malfoy like he was a work of art? Why did Malfoy stare at him with that intense look? And most of all, why did Harry care for Malfoy like he did? Harry thought he had answered that for himself. They all had to be coincidences, or... Or. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath. “Me.” 

So, Harry was gay for Draco Malfoy. Just a little bit. Shit.

“How late is it?” Malfoy asked, startling out of his half-asleep state.

“I don’t know. I think it’s starting to get light out,” Harry stated matter-of-factly as he tried to calm the storm of thoughts and desires whirling in his head. 

“I’m going to be so tired during Potions today. Snape is going to literally murder me if I fall asleep in class,” Malfoy commented.

Harry laughed. “At least you’re not me. He has some type of vendetta against me for some reason. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

Malfoy smiled nostalgically. “Of course I have, Harry.”

Harry’s head shot up to look at Malfoy directly in the eyes. This was new. Malfoy had never called him Harry before. As he gazed into Malfoy’s eyes with what he knew to be a shocked expression, Malfoy just stared him down with the same intense challenge that made Harry’s heart flutter just a bit.

“What?” Malfoy asked innocently. 

That bastard. 

“It’s just... you’ve never called me Harry before,” he stammered with as much eloquence as Billy Budd, sailor. 

“Well, since we’re friends... I thought maybe we should move to first name basis?” Malfoy suggested. 

“Yeah, yeah, no. You’re right.” Harry stumbled over his words. “Draco,” he added. 

Draco looked at him with an confused expression. “Harry,” he repeated. 

“So, uh, since we’re friends, should we talk about, like, stuff friends talk about... school? Quidditch?” 

“Did you just break?” Draco asked. 

Harry blushed. “I think I have a bit. I just... still getting used to this whole ‘Draco Malfoy and I are now friends and he isn’t a pretentious git anymore’ thing. And I’m tired.”

“It’s okay, you know. I’m trying to get used to this whole ‘I don’t hate mudbloods anymore and I’m gay and I’m also friends with Harry Potter’ thing. But yes, maybe we should get to... I don’t know, know each other a bit? Couldn’t hurt I guess,” Draco reassured. 

Harry nodded, admiring the way Draco’s hair fell over his eyes, before speaking. “Well, what’s your favourite subject? Mine is DADA. Lupin is a really cool teacher.”

Harry decided to start off slowly, a new confidence overtaking. If he was going to crush on Draco Malfoy, he might as well be smooth about it. 

“Well, most people think Potions is my favourite, and I do like it, but Transfiguration is actually my favourite subject. McGonagall’s taught me a lot. We could... go back and forth asking questions? Like this?” Draco offered with a bit of hesitation. 

“Uh, okay. That means you have to ask me now,” Harry pointed out. 

“Right. Well, did you have any pets growing up? We have these huge peacocks on the Manor lawn, and I have my owl, but that’s it.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Peacocks?”

Draco blushed a bit. “Yeah, peacocks. Father likes to show off, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah. I’d never had a pet until I got Hedwig,” Harry explained.

“Who’s Hedwig?” 

“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know. Hedwig’s my owl. She’s very sweet.”

Draco smiled. “I remember seeing her delivering your post.” 

Harry thought this was strange, for he received very little post. Unless...Draco had obsessively stared at Harry just as much as Harry had obsessively stared at him. Harry shook the thought from his mind. “Uh, yeah. Well, what’s your first memory?” Harry immediately regretted asking this. He’d forgotten that he would have to answer the question too, and it was pretty depressing to say the death of your parents.

Draco chuckled. “It was when I wandered into the library away from the care of my house elf. I must’ve been, like, two. Anyways, when I got into the library, I accidentally knocked over some precious glass heirloom thing, being the toddler I was. Let’s just say that Mother was not very happy. She put me on timeout until Father came home and I cried the whole time. The house elf was given clothes, and Father hit me with his staff. I was pretty upset. Then I sulked in my room for two days and refused to eat. Pretty silly now that I think about it. What about you?”

That didn’t seem silly to Harry, but it wasn’t like his was much better. “My first memory is Voldemort killing my parents.”

He saw Draco flinch at the name, but he didn’t care. 

“Merlin, Harry. That’s awful! Do you remember it really clearly? Or... I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry sighed sadly. “No, it’s fine. And not really, I just remember seeing a flash of green light and hearing his laugh. But... it’s...” 

It was Harry’s turn to feel a sob catch in his throat, and he willed it away. He was not going to cry in front of Draco. At the same time, however, he could hear the screams of his parents clear as day as he remembered the Dementors influence over him. Then, he felt something. It made him startle at first, but he looked down and realised that Draco had put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Draco was comforting him. 

“You... uh... good?” Draco inquired awkwardly.

Harry somehow found a smile. Draco was trying really hard to be empathetic, to cement his choice to abandon pureblood beliefs. But then, the tears slipped through the dam Harry had so carefully built and one slipped down his cheek. He silently fought the sobs away and wiped the tear from his cheek before looking up at Draco. 

“Yeah. Yeah, erm, I’m fine,” Harry managed, stuffing his emotions back into their bottle and sealing the top. 

Draco seemed confused about what to do with his hand. He gave Harry a hesitant pat and shifted his hand away from Harry’s shoulder, dropping it into his lap with an awkward almost-smile. Harry ducked his head, and an uncomfortable silence ensued, for Harry did not want to discuss Voldemort, Dementors, or death, and it seemed as though Draco felt the same way. 

Draco cleared his throat with a hesitant swallow and asked, “Are we still playing?” 

“Er, yeah. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“What’re some of your hobbies? Obviously, I love Quidditch, but I also play piano quite well, and I enjoy a good book,” Draco began.

Merlin, Draco played piano? Harry was utterly fucked. 

“I don’t really have any interesting hobbies. I like a good book too, if I’m interested in the topic. I guess just spending time with my friends, and doing things with them... I don’t know, I’m not very solitary, so I don’t really have anything I work on by myself, like art or music or writing. Oh, and I also like playing Quidditch. Obviously. I love flying. What do you play on the piano?”

Harry admittedly knew nothing about piano, but a small, rickety upright sat in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, and he’d listened in passing to Katie Bell playing as her fingers raced up and down the keys in complicated patterns he couldn’t even begin to understand. 

“Well, I mostly just improvise, if I’m being honest. It’s relaxing to sit down and lose yourself in the keys. But I’ve played pieces like Clair de Lune by Debussy, or Scherzo in D minor by Gurlitt, or Prelude in E minor by Chopin...” Draco trailed off.

Harry had no idea who Debussy, Gurlitt, or Chopin were, what a prelude was, or what on earth D  
and E minor meant, but he was intrigued nevertheless. “I’ll have to hear you play sometime.” 

Draco gave Harry a sheepish smile. “Uh, okay.” 

The window above them was beginning to let in even more light, and a soft glow permeated the corridor. Harry’s invisibility cloak lay right next to him, the map on top of it. The letter from the Malfoy’s lay crumpled in front of them, along with the incriminating photograph. Draco was curled against the stone wall, giving Harry a hesitant smile, sleep deprivation plain on his features, while Harry himself was leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands. Suddenly (or was it gradually?), a bright yellow glow rose over the window, sunlight shining through. Draco looked up at the glass pane, smiling at the light which had appeared. It wasn’t just a sunrise, Harry thought reflectively. It had symbolism, to him and to Draco. For them, it was the start of a new life- not only for Draco, but also for them both, as friends. A new day had begun, and it had brought hope along with it. They shared a smile. Then, Harry remembered that daylight was generally a precursor to teachers and staff, bustling about the castle preparing for their classes and responsibilities. It also meant that their dorm mates would be rising within the hour. They had to get back to their dorms, but unlike Harry, Draco did not own an invisibility cloak.

“Hey, Draco, we should probably get back to our dorms. Everyone will be up soon, and the halls will get busy,” Harry said. 

“The halls are already busy. How’re we going to get back without being seen?” Draco asked. 

Harry chuckled. “Well, lucky for you,” he began, reaching for the Invisibility Cloak which lay on the floor beside him. “I happen to have an Invisibility Cloak. I can walk you back to Slytherin if you’d like.”

Draco’s eyes widened like he’d just received a really amazing Christmas present. “Whoa! How’d you get that? Those are really rare.”

Harry was reminded of Ron. “Apparently it was my dad’s.”

“Merlin... that’s cool. Well, if you’re... okay with it, I’d really like some help getting back to Slytherin. I didn’t really... expect to be here for this long,” Draco chose his words carefully, speaking slowly as if some eternal awkwardness had settled over them.

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” 

Harry had never felt so awkward in his entire life. He had no idea how to act around Draco, and he presumed that Draco felt the same. It was like they were testing the waters, trying not to offend the other. They had gone from enemies to friends in a night, the dynamic shifting so drastically that neither of them had a clue what to do with themselves or each other. Not to mention the fact that Harry had also come to the realisation that he was attracted to Draco. As he draped the Invisibility Cloak over him and Draco, Harry decided that their close proximity was both a blessing and a curse. He’d been forced to wrap his arm around Draco’s shoulder, and Draco’s side was pressed up against his. 

“We have to kind of, er, walk in step with each other. For this to work,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Draco replied simply. 

“You’ll have to lead the way, as I have no idea how to get there.” 

This was kind of a lie, but Harry wasn’t about to reveal his Polyjuice adventures of the year prior. 

“Okay, well, let’s just start by getting to the main floor,” Draco suggested. 

The two boys attempted to walk in step with one another, down stairs and across wide corridors. A few staff members and house elves were bustling about, preparing for a long day of classes and meals, and Harry and Draco were forced to work together in order to avoid being seen. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat when he laid eyes on Professor Snape, who was walking confidently down the corridor in his billowing black robes. Neither Harry nor Draco felt like having a pleasant conversation with Snape in detention, so they froze against the wall until he passed, leaving them to resume their walk to Slytherin. Harry could hear Draco breathing heavily in his ear; both boys were winded after descending so many staircases at such a rapid pace. Eventually, they reached the entrance to Slytherin house. 

“Uh, thanks, Harry,” Draco smiled at Harry and turned to face him under the Invisibility Cloak. 

They were mere inches from each other. Harry’s heart was racing at a million miles an hour. 

“Um, yeah, of course. Listen, uh, do you want to meet outside the Great Hall, before breakfast, or something?” Harry offered. 

Draco’s face fell slightly. 

“Well, I would, but...” 

Then his eyes met Harry’s, and Harry tried his damn hardest to challenge Draco with his expression. Harry bore his eyes into Draco’s with the same intensity that had always moved him. Draco faltered. 

“Oh, what the hell! My parents are going to kill me anyway. Sure, Harry.” 

Harry grinned at Draco, and Draco gave him a sheepish smile. 

“See you soon, Harry,” Draco said, slipping out from underneath the cloak and vanishing into the common room. 

Harry stared after him. It was strange how quickly he’d become attracted to Draco, especially with the intensity that his crush possessed. But he supposed that in some respects, he’d always been attracted to Draco. For some reason, Draco’d always been able to get under his skin, even if it was in a negative way. It had taken a promise of change, and an confidential conversation, for the true strength of Harry’s feelings to take full root. Worse things had happened to him. If he was falling for Draco Malfoy, so be it. 

Harry walked back to Gryffindor, his heart light and his mood happy. Then, he remembered Ron and Hermione. What would their reaction be? Draco hadn’t exactly been nice to them. In fact, he’d been horrible, especially to Hermione. Mudblood wasn’t a light insult. How was he supposed to attest for Draco’s change? The real truth of it was that he couldn’t. Draco would have to be the one to prove his transformation true. In the time being, Harry would simply have to trust in Draco’s authenticity and attempt to convince his friends to do the same. 

Two Hours Later

“Ronald, my cat has done nothing to your stupid, old rat! I wish you’d stop going on about it!” Hermione insisted loudly as the trio walked to breakfast. 

“But he’s been acting weird! All that your precious kitty does is give him anxiety!” Ron snapped back. 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Can you cut it out, both of you! You two are ruining our friendship over a couple of stupid animals,” Harry complained. 

“They aren’t stupid!” Ron and Hermione both exclaimed. 

“Whatever you say,” Harry shrugged. “I wonder what’s for breakfast?” 

“I hope it’s something good. I’m starved!” Ron stated with emphasis. 

“What’s new?” Hermione joked sarcastically as they approached the Great Hall. 

Harry glanced around until he saw a fringe of platinum blond hair and green Slytherin robes. Draco recognised him instantly, but didn’t approach him. Harry knew it was because of Ron and Hermione. 

“Guys, why don’t you go on to breakfast? I need to talk to someone.” 

“Is everything okay, Harry?” Hermione asked with concern.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry replied. 

“Okay,” she agreed, and her and Ron continued into the Great Hall. 

“Hey, Potter,” Draco greeted. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said. 

“So, friend, why’d you want to meet?” Draco inquired. 

“Well, I was thinking. If you want to hang out occasionally, like without Ron and Hermione, maybe we could go down to the lake and walk around, talk and stuff? I know it’s cold and whatnot, but it’s the best idea I’ve got, and...” 

Draco cut Harry off. 

“Obviously I would like to, Harry,” Draco responded with a condescending tone. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Good.” 

Draco gave him a shy smile, and the two walked into the Great Hall side by side, departing to sit at their respective house tables. 

Harry strode over to the Gryffindor table and plopped down by Ron and Hermione. 

“What were you doing with Malfoy? He wasn’t being a prat, was he?” Ron wondered aloud. 

Harry smiled a bit at the irony of it. Out of all the incomprehensible, highly improbable things to have occurred, becoming friends with Draco Malfoy was not one he had foreseen. It was even weirder that he had feelings for the git! But, he, more than anyone, understood how much things could change in simply one night. So, with a good-natured chuckle and a shake of his head, Harry said, “Well, it’s a long story, but I guess a lot can happen in a night. You see...”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos!  
> Comments are much appreciated, I love to hear feedback about the quality (or lack thereof) of my work! FYI, I didn’t do a super thorough editing job, so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know. 
> 
> Much love, Hannah  
> :)


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